


Break It To Me Gently (my heart can’t take much more)

by Lynx357



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alex and Patience BroTP, Angst, Because let’s face it he definitely has that, But they will get a happy ending, Claire and Jack BroTP, Everyone Will Get A Happy Ending You Guys, Gen, Jack dealing with PTSD, Jody being a Mom TM, Lots of older characters, Season 14 Rewrite, This is a mostly Winchester-free story, but it will get better!, hang in there, serious angst, sorry - Freeform, this is gonna end happy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-07
Updated: 2019-10-25
Packaged: 2020-01-06 11:34:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18387617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lynx357/pseuds/Lynx357
Summary: The Winchester’s are dead. It’s almost laughable at this point, ludicrous to contemplate that for once it could be permanent. But with Michael loose on Earth, and Jack weakened by grief even more than the loss of his Grace, it’s going to take the efforts of every part of the scattered Hunting family to save the human race from what’s coming.





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> So, this is the general, fuck the writers, I do what I like, fix-it for season 14. Updates will be sporadic, fair warning, but I will finish this because I am Just That Stubborn. There will only be background ships in this, but a whole lot of family building, because that is the good shit, in my opinion. Jack will not be getting shipped at all, ya nasties, because he is a BABY. Protect Jack 2k19. If you have constructive criticism, go ahead and give it. If you’re gonna bitch about my narrative choices, go tell someone who gives a shit, because I do not. Anyway, enjoy!

This story begins when Lucifer slices open Jack’s throat for his power and laughs as the son he claimed to love crumples to the ground. When Sam Winchester, blinded with rage for all he has lost, for the harm done to the child he never thought he would get, lunges for his oldest tormentor as he flees, leaving his brother and their angel alone and terrified.

When Dean makes a bargain more deadly than any he has ever struck with a demon, and gives up his body to a Destroyer of Worlds. When Michael extinguishes his soul with half a breath, and laughs and laughs as his power explodes outwards, incinerating every human in the bunker. He drives his sword into Castiel’s chest almost absentmindedly, while his nephew stirs painfully, blinks open bleary eyes just in time to scream for his father. 

This story has no midair skirmish between unimpressive meatsuits - it has two archangels at the height of their power decimating an old church as Sam stands helplessly, carving an impossible path of careless destruction northwards, through the US, spiralling though Canada, shooting across the ocean to imprint vast, bloody outlines of their true forms across Asia, the Middle East, Europe. In the beginning of this story, Lucifer meets his end at the hands of his brother in the middle of the Atlantic Ocean. 

In the days that follow, human governments will asses the damage, tally up the loss of a billion people swept away in swathes of pure energy, in earthquakes from the impact of celestial bodies against the Earth, in the tsunamis that followed. Scientists will be plagued for answers, but have none at all to give. 

Hunters will gather together and whisper about what could have caused it, what can be done to prevent it happening again. Dean Winchester’s body will be sighted in strange clothes prowling the streets of every country. The being wearing his face will carefully plan his next move, confident in his own invincibility. After all, who is left to stop him? God is gone. The devil is dead. The human guardians that had stood between all other threats to this world are no more.

But six hours before all of this happened, Patience Turner sat up straight in Souix Falls, and  _screamed._


	2. The Beginning

“Nothing.” Claire scowled down at her phone after it went to voicemail for the seventh time. In the drivers seat, Jody eyed the speedometer, he needle already balancing precariously over the 60mph zone, pushing the speed limit. The atmosphere had been tense since the start of their journey, only growing worse as time crept ceaselessly onward, narrowing the gap between them and disaster nail-bitingly fast.

“We’re almost there. Fifteen minutes, at most.”

Claire scoffed.

“It’s the Winchester’s. They could _definitely_ start the apocalypse in fifteen minutes.” Her knee bounced up and down agitatedly, heel striking the floor with progressively more force, anxious energy spilling over. Jody stayed quiet; in her line of work you learned fast the futility of responding to unavoidably true statements with empty platitudes.

Despite the warning they had received from Patience, the two didn’t actually know what they were driving towards - only that it was something Bad. (Which was an understatement, really, but there was no other word for it.)

Patience had been rendered insensible by the sheer force of her visions, screaming so loud and long that her vocal chords had almost shredded; she had collapsed to the floor and convulsed like she was having a seizure.

From the girl who was normally so levelheaded and calm, it had been terrifying to watch, even as Alex put all of her medical knowledge to the test and Claire phoned Jody at work, voice pitched high with a panic that she would never, ever, admit to. It had been the longest twenty minutes of their lives, waiting for the vision to end.

Jody had come bursting through the door just as the last spasms faded, met with her two oldest girls hovering protectively over the youngest. Patience’s breathing had been ragged in the silence. Tears, from fear or exhaustion or both streamed quietly from scarily blank eyes. It had taken another half hour, filled with shock blankets, hot drinks, and worried, prying questions, for Patience to focus enoughto tell them anything at all. Jody and Alex had bracketed her on the couch, Claire fidgeting her way across the carpet in front of them, too keyed up to sit.

“I don’t - I’ve never seen anything like it.” Patience’s voice had cracked hoarsely. “They were so powerful - it’s like they didn’t even see anything else. Like it was all too small to even register.” 

“They?” Jody leaned forward, eyes intent. “How many?”

”Two. But _huge._ I couldn’t _see_ them properly, it _burned_. Looking at them, I mean. Everything they touched burned too.” Alex rubbed her arm gently. 

“Drink some more, Pay, it’ll help you talk.”

“Jesus.” Claire muttered angrily from the other side of the coffee table. Jody sent her a quelling look.

”Did you see where they were?”

”Everywhere.” A shudder wracked Patience’s frame. “It looked like they were everywhere.” 

“Oh _great_!” Claire exploded. “So you don’t know _who_ they are, you don’t know _where_ they are, you don’t even know _what_ they are. Do you know anything other than ‘imminent doom is upon us,’ because that would be _really fucking helpful!”_

“Claire!” Jody said sharply, arm tightening around Patience, who was still staring vacantly at nothing. “She’s in shock! Yelling at her _isn’t_ going to help.” Outraged, Claire threw her hands in the air. 

“And you think _coddling_ her will?! She just had her eyeballs nearly exploded by a premonition of the _end of days_ , and you think that hugs on the couch are the way to go?”

”GUYS!” Yelled Alex. “How about we focus on the real problem, huh? I’m sure family drama can wait.” She glared meaningfully at them until, mutinously, Claire flopped down into the armchair, chest still heaving. “Thank you.” Claire grimaced at her. “Jody, much as it pains me to say it, Claire does have a point. We need a place to start.”

“The Winchester’s.” Everyone paused, then turned to Patience, who lifted her head, still ashen, but a little more aware. “It’s going to start with the Winchester’s.”

Jody and Alex looked at each other wordlessly. Claire rolled her eyes so hard that they tilted her head with them.

“Of _course_ it is.”

 

Now, they were driving to Lebanon with a plan that, unfortunately, pretty much amounted to them rolling up to the bunker and saying,

“Whatever thing you’re planning that might be risky? Please don’t do it.” And that pathetically underdeveloped plan was only viable if they made it within the timeframe; inconveniently for them, said timeframe was a very unspecific “soon”.

Claire gnawed her lip raw as Jody pulled them up to a junction, eyes sliding unwillingly down to her blank phone. Abruptly, the radio flickered on. Both women stared at it, at the channel jumping erratically, never playing anything but static.

“Jody...” Claire began, gut sinking as an old, old memory resurfaced. She never got to continue. A faint ringing sounded around them, building rapidly to an unbearably pitch as a blinding light shone from the horizon to their left. 

“Get down!” She yelled, even as her voice was lost in the screech of angelic presence,  lunging for the sheriff, dragging her under the dashboard to shield her. Eyes squeezed shut as tightly as they could, it still felt like blades were stabbing through her skin, searing across her body, eardrums vibrating with agony. Claire was screaming, she knew she was screaming, but she couldn’t hear it, she couldn’t hear, she couldn’t think, she needed it to stop, please stop, stop, STOP! 

 They gasped, the sound shockingly loud in the silence. Claire felt paralysed, trapped under the weight of her past, of an angel wearing her father and a demon wearing her mother, and a terrible, impossible choice. _No. That’s over. It’s finished._

Slowly, she uncurled from her hunched position, eyes streaming with pained tears. Shards of glass shifted in her hair and clothes; a breeze from the shattered windows blew cool air across her face. Jody, wide-eyed but otherwise composed, cupped Claire’s face in her hands.

“Are you alright?” Claire made herself nod, swallowing the sour taste of fear from her mouth. Her eyes shifted from Jody’s face to beyond her shoulder, then widened with horror. Blood icy with dread, Jody turned to look.

Maybe half a mile away, where farmland had been not thirty seconds before, was an inferno. Orange flames licked over blackened earth, stretching northwards as far as the eye could see, as though a meteor had scored its way along the landscape. A small group of buildings had been reduced to charred husks, massive electric pylons lay twisted and rent like cracked open ribcages.

“Holy shit.”

“We’re too late.” Claire said hollowly. “If that happens to any cities...” she stopped. Jody took a deep, fortifying breath and viciously twisted the keys in the ignition.

“We can still help whoever is left.” Neither of them mentioned the alternative. The car jolted to life, tires squealing as she floored it. Wind buffeted their grim faces as they hurtled down the last mile to the bunker.


	3. The Empty Home

The weight of Jody’s gun was a familiar companion. She had been a serving cop for upwards of twenty years, and despite not working the big cities, she had seen her fair share of violence even before she had been dragged into the hunting life by the unlikely mix of zombies and the town drunk.

The blonde hair of her adopted daughter visible in her periphery was decidedly less comforting.

“Stay behind me,” Jody warned as they approached the door, which hung ominously open. A muscle jumped in Claire’s jaw, but she didn’t argue. They stepped inside. A horrible, low, whining sort of noise met their ears, distant and awful, raising the hairs on the back of Jody’s neck. She dropped to her haunches, using the wrought iron fencing of the balcony as a makeshift cover to peer down into the war room.

It was carnage, in a terribly minimal sort of way. The furniture was in pieces bordering the room as though blasted there. Black smears were imprinted on the walls and floor, each one the perfect size of a human body. The walls and ceiling were peeled away in between carvings of previously disguised enochian writing, the only things keeping the building upright. The safe haven that had become a true home to people that had given up hope of ever finding such a thing had been decimated.

Movement from the shadows by the staircase caught Jody’s eye. A head of blond-brown hair was hunched over a prone body, clad in a trench coat that, despite having never seen it in person, Jody recognised instantly. Glancing over her shoulder to where Claire was standing pressed up to the wall, she motioned with her head at the stairs. Claire nodded.

Advancing downwards torturously slowly, Jody found her mind casting back to a year before, to warning phone calls about the Devil being loose, to pleas for an APB to go out for a pregnant woman, to worries about a child that might be just like his father. Then she remembered Kaia, young and brave and weary, speaking of a strange kid with gold eyes, and the lengths he was willing to go to for the loved ones of his friends.

At the bottom of the steps, she paused. Closer now, the noise sounded even worse, a stuttered, agonised almost-howl, shattered by wheezing gasps. For all the crumpled figure on the floor looked grown, he sounded heart wrenchingly young.

Deliberately, she let her foot hit the ground loud enough tobe heard, gun pointed down but held at the ready. His head snapped up, voice cutting out from surprise, leaving nothing but ragged breaths to fill the emptiness. Blood stained hands pressed over a stab wound in the dead man’s chest, and the boy recoiled like a wounded animal.

Eerie golden light shone in his eyes for half a second, before it sputtered pathetically out, leaving them wide and wet and broken.

“Jack?” Jody asked cautiously. “It’s Jack, right?” He didn’t really respond, one hand spasming where it gripped onto bloody fabric. His eyes shifted rapidly between the two of them, untrusting.

“Oh God,” Claire murmured behind her. “ _Cas_.” Jody cut her a quick glance, but the stricken look in her eyes vanished quickly, replaced by brittle stoicism. In this situation, she would have to wait, no matter how much it hurt Jody’s heart to put her second.

Sliding the gun into her holster, she moved a single step closer to Jack.

“I’m Jody Mills. Did they tell you about me?” A barely perceptible nod, nearly lost in the shudders wracking his body. “Good. That’s good.” Claire made to move as well, but froze again when given a warning hand gesture.

“Okay, Jack? I need you to breathe properly.” He shook his head, eyes desperate. If anything, his hyperventilating got worse; it was like he had only just realised how hard his lungs were working. “Shit.” Throwing caution to the wind, Jody moved forward and knelt down just shy of touching distance. Her eyes flicked over Castiel’s slack face and away again. Dealing with that would have to come later.

“Jack, _breathe_.” More tears leaked out of his eyes as he squeezed them shut. Up close, his face was blotchily red, his top lip shiny with snot. He looked every inch a scared child, overwhelmed by the situation he had found himself in. Out of the corner of her eye, Jody saw Claire slip past them and disappear into the bunker, presumably to search for other survivors.

“In for four, out for four, come on. I know you can do it.” Jody inhaled and exhaled loudly as an example. Jack blinked hazily and tried to copy her, but even though his next breath was a little slower, it still got caught somewhere in his throat. “Great, that’s great. Keep trying, Jack, come on.” It took several more minutes of gentle coaxing, but the worst of it seemed to be over. Still crying, it petered out into ugly hiccoughs while his face pressed into Jody’s coat. It had migrated there as he calmed down and he was clearly sagging with exhaustion.

One filthy hand groped out blindly, as if searching for comfort, and after a moment, Jody shifted her arm to grasp it.

It seemed to have been the right move, because Jack’s whole body wilted further like a neglected house plant. It was worrying - no one should be that trusting to a stranger, especially not someone faced with the aftermath of a massacre.

“Do you think you can stand?” It was a mostly rhetorical question, meant as a warning that she was going to move them, but Jack blinked at her in a mildly encouraging way anyway, so she took it as agreement.

“Great, okay.” One hand under his elbow, she firmly guided him upwards and away, toward where she thought the kitchen was, resolutely ignoring the body they left behind them.

  


	4. The Quiet

Once they reached the kitchen, Jody steered Jack onto one of the stools surrounding the island worktop and ran some warm water into a bowl. Every so often she’d glance up to check on him, but the absence of overwhelming emotion seemed to have drained him completely. Even as she picked up one of his hands to scrub at it with a cloth, all he did was stare glassily out at nothing.

“There’s no one else here.” Claire entered the room quietly, dragging out another chair to slump down in, elbows resting on the counter. “The cell towers are down as well.” She held up her phone, displaying the ‘no service’ icon. “I don’t suppose Winchester Junior over here has said anything helpful?”

Jody shook her head, wringing out the cloth into rust stained water.

“Nothing.”

Claire smiled without humour.

“Figures.” She dug her index finger into the rough grain of the wooden counter, face twisted up with complicated emotion. Running the rag over Jack’s hand one last time, Jody carried the bowl back over the sink. She hovered longer than necessary, hiding her face under the pretence of washing her own hands; the reality of the day was beginning to set in, helplessness welling up inside her.

Jody had been solving crimes for most of her life and even if she didn’t have all the details, a shape of what had transpired had been forming in her mind. It had been years since angels posed a true threat - the fall from heaven and the steady decrease of their numbers had seen them retreating from contact with humans. The sort of damage caused outside could not have come from any left in this world.

But the impromptu rescue of Sam and Dean she and the girls had initiated a few months ago from the Bad Place had proven that this world was not the only one they had to contend with any more. Jack had changed the game when he first broke open the walls between one reality and the next; now they had to deal with the consequences. Though, it seemed unfair to blame any of this on him; Kaia, when asked about him, had said that the only reason he had sought her out in the first place was to try and rescue Mary Winchester.

For all the good that had done. Morbidly, Jody wondered if one of the charcoal smears on the bunker walls belonged to the kind woman she had met last year at a funeral, out of time and struggling with her identity. But if Jodywas right and angels from some parallel universe had come through to theirs to rain down destruction for the hell of it, then what on earth could she do? She was just one woman, and there was no way in hell she was going to drag anyone else into this mess and get them killed.

No use worrying about it. Jody shook herself mentally back to the present, dumping the bowl in the sink and turning back towards Claire with forced purpose. Shit was going to happen either way, the least she could do was try to protect her family.

“Do you think you can take Jack out to the car?” She asked briskly, drying her hands on a towel. Claire blinked at her, taken aback by her abrupt change in mood.

“Uh, sure?” She glanced from Jody to the catatonic boy who was now listing dangerously to one side, only saved from falling by the support of the countertop. “Wait, what are you going to do?”

“See if I can find any books or weapons that will help against angels. Somehow, I don’t think my handgun is going to cut it.” Though she deliberately kept her tone of voice light, behind Jack’s back she tilted her head towards the war room - and in it, the body. Claire’s facedarkened again before she forced it smooth once more. Jody winced internally; Claire had always used repression as a defence mechanism, but she had been even worse since Kaia. This was yet another weight on her back, and one day soon, Jody knew, she was going to break under the strain of it.

“Fine.” It was short, but not aggressive, and Jody considered it a win. Approaching Jack, Claire sized him up critically, like a general pouring over a map. Shrugging, she finally pulled one of his arms over her shoulder and hauled him up, staggering a little before she adjusted to his dead weight.

“Jesus, you have to be the heaviest one year old demon spawn _ever_.” Trusting that they would make it to the car in one piece, Jody headed further into the bunker.

 

—————————————————————————

 

The first thing Jack registered as he woke up was leather underneath his face. Hazily, he wondered if Dean would stop soon; his stomach was growling and he’d kill for a burger. Well, not _kill_ for a burger, he didn’t want to kill anyone for anything, but Dean said things like that all the time and Cas, when asked about it, had informed Jack that human turns of phrase tended towards hyperbole and that it “definitely isn’t anything to worry about, Jack, you’ll get used to it, I’m sure”.

The second thing he realised was that the unintelligible voices in the front seat were female and unfamiliar, closely followed by the fact that it was freezing cold air blasting in his face, like all the windows were open. And then he remembered. Lucifer, Michael, the icy hands of betrayal clutching at his chest when his father (his father!) gleefully admitted to murder, the yawning emptiness the loss of his grace left inside of him. Cas. Oh God, Cas. Jack whimpered, curling in on himself. It had been Dean’s hands holding the blade, Dean’s face, warped in a twisted parody of happiness as he drove it into his best friends chest with that obscene squelching noise that was still echoing in Jack’s ears, Dean’s voice that had laughed as he did it, wild and mad. But Jack could still see souls; he hadn’t lost that, his most basic ability, and there had been no-one but Michael left behind those familiar green eyes.

“Cas.” He whispered. _Dad_ , he thought to himself. He couldn’t say it, though. He didn’t have the _right_ to say it.  “Cas, I’m... I’m so  _sorry_.” Prayer had brought his guardian back to life once before - now though, it felt empty, ragged tendrils of once-powerful Grace scraping weakly against the void in his chest, useless. He sobbed, painfully dry, parched body bled empty of tears, pressing his forehead into the upholstery of the seats hard enough to ache.

Somewhere in the back of his head, a voice was telling him he should be worried about exactly whose car he was in. But that voice was far away, drowned out by the rest of Jack’s mind, too busy howling with grief to give a shit about what happened to him. It wasn’t like he didn’t deserve it. If it hadn’t been for him, everyone would still be alive.

His mother had believed him capable of great things. Castiel had told him that he was proud of him. Sam had said that he deserved to be helped, to be _loved_. Dean had told him that he wasn’t a monster. Mary had called him one of her boys. And now, they were all dead. Because of him. Because he was _stupid_ , and _naive_ , and _childish_.

How many people had warned him about Lucifer? Had told him to be wary? And Jack had gone in there trustingly anyway, believing that his birth father surely couldn’t be _that_ bad, that maybe there had been a mistake, a misunderstanding. And now everyone he cared about was dead, all because he had been arrogant enough to think he knew better.

“Hey. _Hey_!” That tone of voice sounded so much like Dean’s, for all that the pitch of it was wrong. Jack could almost imagine the frustrated twist of his mouth, the line drawn between his brows. It was almost a relief to look up and see a teenage girl twisted around in the front seat, glaring at him. She raised her voice to be heard better over the full roar of wind ripping through the car from the windows which, he now saw, hadn’t been opened so much as _blown out_. “You done angsting all over the backseat? We have bigger problems than you right now.”

“Claire.” The older woman said tiredly. Claire rolled her eyes, scraping her wayward hair away from her face irritably. Despite himself, Jack frowned. The sound of the other woman’s voice had triggered disjointed memories, paled out by a haze of dispair and fury; a soft voice and gentle hands, the absence of blood, the gradual loosening of his chest where he had stopped being able to breathe. Jody, she had introduced herself as. Jody Mills. A friend of the Winchester’s.

Jack swallowed in an attempt to whet his throat.

“Where are we going?” The words were hoarse, but audible. The blonde looked him up and down critically, like she had already made up her mind about him, and decided he wasn’t worth her time. Finally, she answered.

“Home. You know, if it’s still there.”


	5. The Home Front

Home _was_ still there, for whatever it was worth. Patience sat curled up on the couch, watching the emergency news broadcast set up by the government in an attempt to cover damage control. A nap had given her the time to get back to normal - well, normal for the circumstances, anyway - and now she was praying for the news that her father’s town was still standing.

Things hadn’t ended well between them, which honestly made not knowing if he was even alive that much worse; Patience had always intended to go home at some point, to try and make him see her side of things. He had been a hero to her, growing up. The moral compass that she used as a guide throughout her life.

The pain that came with discovering his deceit about her grandmother, with hearing him plead with her to bury her head in the sand, to ignore the gift she had inherited, even though it could help people, to save her own skin, had broken her heart. It’s one thing to learn that adults are fallible - it’s quite another to learn that the person you loved most in the world was that selfish.

Loud footsteps thundering down the stairs broke Patience out of her thoughts.

Alex was rushing frantically around, shoving things into her backpack, preparing to go into work. Even though Sioux Falls had somehow managed to avoid the worst of the damage, overstretched hospitals had been sending their seemingly endless overspill to anywhere and everywhere else available.

“I have to get to the hospital. Everywhere is swamped, they need all hands on deck. Will you be okay?” Alex paused, eyes sweeping over the room. Her hair spilled out from the messy ponytail it had been pulled up into and she looked more harried than Jodie had when she’d attempted to cook Christmas dinner while trying to solve a particularly vexing case that involved a vampire with a weird grudge against mall Santa’s.

Patience leaned forward to catch her eye and smiled reassuringly at her.

“Yeah. Don’t worry about me.” _Save worrying for the ones that need it,_ she thought privately.

Alex nodded distractedly.

“I’ll have my phone on me, if you need anything at all. And there’s a gun hidden in the fridge, two knives under the coffee table if anyone breaks in, I heard what the news guy said about looters, I don’t want you taking any chances. I’m pretty sure there’s some leftovers in the fridge as well, for you to eat, not for looters, I mean. Text me if you hear from the others, please, or if you have another vision, or-“

“Alex!” Patience said loudly, then winced as the volume tugged painfully at her inflamed vocal chords. She smiled to cover it, amused but mildly alarmed at her sisters antics. Alex froze, staring, expression so concerned it almost seemed manic.

“What?”

“I _promise_ , I will be fine now. Go to work, stay safe. _Breathe_ , before you pass out.” Alex blinked twice at her before her shoulders finally relaxed a little.

“Patience? You have _no idea_ how happy I am to finally have an emotionally stable sister.”

Patience grinned, worn around the edges but genuine.

“Hey, I’ve been living with Claire too you know.” Alex laughed quietly, shrugging on her jacket, digging into her pocket to check she had her keys.

”You sure you’ll be alright?”

“ _Go_!” Patience ordered, smile widening.

Looking brighter than she had all day, Alex finally left. Sighing, Patience slumped down in her seat, rubbing tiredly at her eyes. She hadn’t been lying when she said that she felt better, but there are certain situations that you never feel happy in, and being a psychic in a family of supernatural hunters caught in the middle of an apocalypse that’s killed millions of people, is definitely at the top of that list.

Leaning over to the cluttered coffee table, she rooted around until she unearthed a notepad and pen. ‘Vision’ was kind of an understatement for what she had experienced earlier. It had been more like an avalanche, a barrage of images that seared through her brain like lightning, disjointed and terrible.

Normally, the things she saw were clear - laid out neatly in front of her with cause and effect easy to see. But this - this was almost incomprehensible. It was like she had been shown a thousand movies all at once, on half as many screens, audio overlapping until it was impossible to distinguish.

The frustration Claire had shown at her vagueness earlier was a mirror of her own feelings. This was _the_ biggest premonition Patience had ever had - and her abilities chose now of all times to get knocked out of whack? The only truly clear thing had been that, somehow, it all led back to the Winchester’s.

Hours later, with a clear head, more things were finally starting to make sense, resolving themselves into understandable pictures in her head.

With nothing more useful to do, and a welling feeling of hopelessness, Patience gritted her teeth, put pen to paper, and wrote down everything.


	6. The Guilt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two emotionally repressed children having a quiet talk at night.

 The room was still dark when Claire blinked herself awake with a damp mouth and a dry throat. The itch behind her eyes told her that however much sleep she had gotten, it wasn’t nearly enough, but the suddenness of her waking was an old friend that always accompanied insomnia. Running her tongue over musty tasting teeth, she grimaced.

 Moving as slowly as possible to avoid agitating the springs in the shitty mattress, she sat up. The intrepid three had driven until darkness before shacking up in a motel. One tiny room with a double bed was all they had between them, but the upside was that they had been given it for free - refugees from the decimated areas were flooding the rest of the country, and any businesses with vacant rooms had been ordered to open their doors to whomever might need them.

 Jody was still pressed deep into her pillow, snoring soft little snores that Claire had always found more soothing than irritating. At home, when the night was just a bit too dark and monsters with familiar faces rose up behind Claire’s eyes, she would crack open her bedroom door and just listen to Jody sleeping. Fatigue would eventually chase her back to bed, but reality always felt more solid afterwards.

 Claire had spent the afternoon almost silent, watching the lines of her adoptive mothers face deepen with stress. She wasn’t dumb, not by a long shot, but Claire knew that she was pretty much on the same emotional maturity level as Dean Winchester was. It was a truly frightening state of incompetence - which, usually, she tried to ignore. It was this uncertainty that had turned her tongue to lead in her mouth; for all she wanted to lighten the mood, to distract from the impossible weight compressing Jody’s shoulders, every comment in her head had been too sharp or too sad. Stymied by her own inadequacy in comfort, Claire had kept quiet.

 Baby Winchester in the back seat had been no help either. Pale and withdrawn, he had offered nothing to the conversation, save asking where they were going. The indifference in his voice bothered Claire; it rang far to familiar. Being so alone that you no longer cared what happened to you was something she managed toshake after Cas had come back into her life and dragged her kicking and screaming towards the women who had become her family. But she still knew how it rested in someone’s face.

 In a cruel sort of way, seeing it in Jack’s face actually reassured her. Every stranger is an unknown threat until they aren’t a stranger any more, especially god-level powered nephilim descended from the literal creator of evil. However, a being who was capable of razing the world to the ground without remorse was unlikely to be found shaking apart on the floor of their home. Even more unlikely to surrender himself to two complete strangers, to sit in devastated silence in the backseat.

 Speaking of Lucy junior, he wasn’t in bed. Instead he was curled up in a chair by the window. Orange lightfrom the street outside illuminated his silhouette, chin hooked over his knees, eyes spots of reflected light in the darkness. Sighing to herself, Claire stood and stretched until her back popped, then padded over to the other chair, carpet rough under her bare toes.

Jack watched her as she approached, waited for her to sit down, then went back to staring broodily out of the window. All she knew about him really was his parentage, the fact that the Winchester’s had been searching for him, and that he was powerful enough to break open the wall between universes. Kaia had called him intense, but kind. Had said that he was the first person to show her the beauty of her abilities. At the time, Claire had been jealous of that fact. Now, that jealously had been swallowed up by the yawning chasm in her chest where she kept all of her grief.

“Can’t sleep because you slept earlier, or can’t sleep because of nightmares?” Closer, half of Jack’s face stood out in sharp relief, the other painted black with shadow. He took a breath, like he wanted to reply, then let it out again, dropping his gaze. Claire frowned and tried again.

“You do sleep right? It looked like that’s what you were doing earlier.”

“I sleep.” His eyes sketched the outline of her face before skittering away again. “Not much, but I do.” His voice was softer than Claire had thought it would be, but deeper too. For all he looked physically mature, something in the way he carried himself screamed of childhood.

“He speaks!” Shit. Too harsh. She offered a small smile, an attempt to take the edge off the unintended sting. The shadow cast by Jacks eyebrow deepened a little, before he continued like he hadn’t even heard. 

“... Though, that was before. I expect I’ll need more now.” 

 _Great. This is just about a hundred times more awkward than I’d hoped it would be._ On the bed, Jody stuttered halfway through a snore, and rolled over.      _I really wish you were awake right now, Jody. I don’t know how to have a normal conversation with normal people, how the hell am I supposed to make small talk with the son of Satan?_

Claire flexed her fingers against the denim covering her knee. She’d gone to sleep in her clothes, unwilling to drop her guard, both because of the stranger in the room, and also because, hello? The world was ending, and they knew nothing about what had caused it. For once, being naturally inclined towards paranoia paid off.

“You probably shouldn’t help me.” Jack told her. He’d lowered his legs, sitting in a crushed cross legged position that looked like a lower-body cramp waiting to happen. The non-sequitur surprised her into looking at him, and she scowled fiercely to hide her confusion.

“And why the hell not?”

 “Because. This is all my fault.” And didn’t _that_ sound an awful lot like a confession. Visions of the kid across from her losing control, wreathed in flames, burning up entire states in a toddlers tantrum flashed behind her eyes. So much for him being lost. 

“What?” She asked, voice low. Her angel blade was across the room, under her pillow. “You mean you did all this?” She gestured widely with her arms to encompass the magnitude of ‘this’, trying her damnedest not to come across as a possible threat. In case he still felt smite-y. It was Jack’s turn to look confused.

“No.” He said seriously, head tilting to the side in a startlingly familiar move. “But I did some stupid things. I helped Lucifer, and Michael, I didn’t listen to Cas, or Sam, or Dean -“ His words started to speed up as he spoke, his face drawing tight with pain, and Claire, reassured that they hadn’t, in fact, helped a mass murderer, realised that she should probably jump in before they had a repeat of that afternoons panic attack.

“Okay!” She cut him off, quickly checking over her shoulder that Jody was still away in dreamland. Groaning as vehemently as she could under the circumstances, she scrubbed one hand over her face. “I’m going to disregard the information you just handed over for the moment, because I’m pretty sure that’s going to be a long story, and definitely one that you’ll be able to tell a lot better if you have your head on straight.”

 Jack just stared at her, eyes worryingly wet, linked fingers visibly white with tension even in the darkness. _How in the hell did I end up in this situation_? Claire thought in despair. It was way to late for this kind of bullshit. Sincerity had never been her strong suit, but she strived for it now, if just to avoid needing to have this conversation again.

“Okay, look. No amount of stupid decisions in the world can have an impact of the actions of others. If someone is going to do bad things on purpose, then it’s their fault, not yours. Trying to take on the blame for every little mistake won’t do anything but drive you nuts.”

Jack looked as though he was trying to burn a hole in the ground, he was focusing so hard on it. Tears ran down his cheeks in earnest now, though he wiped at them furiously. Claire kicked her foot awkwardly.

“But people _died_.” His voice cracked.

 “People die all the time. They get killed, by monsters, by humans, by sheer, dumb, luck. You can’t save everyone. No one can. And unless you were the one to put them in danger, you have to let it go.” Lack of sleep was making itself very well known, so Claire shook her head, deciding to cut her losses for the night, and stood.

“Tomorrow, you need to tell us everything you know, and I mean _everything_ , because we’re basically shooting in the dark right now. Which means you need to stow your crap and get your game face on. Or more people are gonna die, and that will be on you.”

 Jack swallowed audibly in the night-deadened room.

 “Alright.” He whispered. “I can do that.”

 Claire nodded at him without looking, clambering back into bed. Exhaustion dragged at her eyelids like sandpaper, and she sank deep into a dreamless sleep.


	7. The Decision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More introspection from our favourite nephilim.

Jack knew a lot of things, in an abstract sort of way. He knew about countries, about languages, about beaches, and forests, and deserts. He knew how to do basic math, how gravity worked, the state in which all matter existed. All of it. It’s just that he never really _learned_  any of it.

  
Kelly, beacon of love and light that she was, had inadvertently passed down the simple things, just by virtue of her soul being pressed up close to his for seven months, information and emotion bleeding through from her to him like wet ink on paper. But seeing through her eyes was like learning from a mirror; you could recognise the larger things, but the details were suddenly twisted and warped, familiar but frustratingly incomprehensible.

  
The universe itself was an open book to Jack, atoms and molecules and energy and matter, all connected and laid out easily in front of his grace-powered senses. Learning how to manipulate those things, however, took practice; broken bones and broken trust had been the result of his brand-new instincts, raw angelic power filtered through an underdeveloped human brain. The seemingly endless parade of mistakes were a noose around Jack’s neck, strangling his faith in his own abilities, keeping him reined in with fear and self-doubt. Every success seemed to turn around on him, and every failure had a hundred new repercussions each time he looked back on them.

  
Being born had been its own experience, every hour of every day filled with bewildering people doing bewildering things at bewildering times, nearly all of them expecting Jack to keep up on his own. Looking like an adult offered protection from angels and demons, but if offered no reprieve from humans assuming from his appearance that he had the knowledge considered by everyone else to be the basic minimum for life.

  
Sam and Cas were the notable exceptions. They both seemed to empathise with him, his situation. Sam especially, in the beginning, took the time to explain each new thing, to gently probe him with questions, mapping out things known and things needing to be taught. Cas had been similar, but he had the benefit of understanding, more so than Sam could, about being _more_ than human, about being _outside_ of human, a sidestep away from everyone else, always scrambling to catch up.

  
Between the two of them, Jack had felt secure. They both knew the dangers of having power, of the errors that always seemed to accompany it. With them at his side, guiding him, encouraging him even when he messed up, he had almost believed that things could work out, that redemption was within reach. That he could learn to navigate his dual identity. To no longer be too ethereal to be human, or too mundane to be an angel. To just be _Jack_ , whoever that might be.

  
But now they were gone. Again. Along with Dean, who had finally started to feel like a real father/uncle/brother figure, and Mary, whose soul had always reminded him of his mother. And no matter what Claire said, Jack couldn’t help but blame himself.

  
She had been right about one thing, though. The world was still in danger. Michael was going to kill more people, if he hadn’t already, and Jack was the only person left alive who knew anything about him. Who had a chance of stopping him, if he was able to get his power back.

So far, Jack had an abysmal record of saving people. But if he had been adopted as an honorary Winchester, then he owed it to everyone he’d failed to save, to try and save everyone else. In the morning, he would tell Jody and Claire everything he knew. He’d fix everything, even if it killed him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dundunduuuuun! And here we see Jack following the Winchester tradition of making self-destructive choices. Just a short one this time guys, but next time we’ll get some more plot-type shit going on.


	8. The Cambion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some new/old characters! Yay!

A single lightbulb illuminated the empty bar as Jesse Turner wiped down the counter, accompanied by the grating buzz of the bug zapper in the corner. Over on a high shelf, next to dusty spirit bottles, an ancient TV set mimed out the days news, muted earlier by a bored patron who’d gotten sick of all the doom and gloom.

Privately, Jesse had agreed with him; there had been no new information, no change in story. The same depressing footage played out over and over again. Not to mention, the whole thing pretty much screamed supernatural, at a level that made him feel more than a little uneasy.

Jesse was powerful; there could be no denying that. If he put his mind to it, there was a chance that he could achieve something like the chaos of the last day - but it would exhaust him. Would probably take him about ten times longer too. But the most worrying thing wasn’t the amount of damage, or even the speed with which it had happened. It was the pattern that the destruction followed, because it wasn’t deliberate. It was collateral damage. Whatever caused it had been way above anything he’d ever encountered.

Jesse could only feel grateful that Australia had managed to avoid being dragged into the mess.

He had built a life here, had held down a steady job for three years now, after spending much of his childhood bouncing from place to place, kept from discovery by liberal use of his powers. One might go so far as to say he felt content, taking online college courses,chatting with the friends and colleagues who came through the bar.

Finished with late-night cleanup, Jesse threw the bedraggled dishrag into the garbage, and went to grab his keys. He had one finger resting on the light switch when his skin prickled with a familiar sort of energy.

“Hey there, hotshot.” The demon looked young, female, Asian. Her body was new to Jesse, but her aura wasn’t. This was an old friend of his - or at least, as close to a friend as a demon cold get.

“Rose.” He nodded at her in greeting, then flicked his eyes over her. “New digs?”

“Oh yeah.” Rose ran a hand down her side in satisfaction, as though admiring the finish. “Had an asthma attack, poor thing. But her loss is my gain.”

“Great.” Jesse rubbed tiredly at his eyes. Rose had taken it upon herself to keep him updated about the goings on of the supernatural world years ago when they ran into one another. He knew that she just hoped for his protection if things went sour for her, but he didn’t mind that. It meant he could trust her information.

“Come on, walk home with me. We can talk on the way.” Jesse flicked off the light, stepped through the door and locked it with a snap of his fingers. He already dreaded the coming conversation. Nothing good would come from it, he could tell.

“Ooh, going home with you, am I?” She arched an eyebrow. “I gotta tell you, I’m not that kind of girl.”

“Yeah, you’re too old for me anyway.” Rose gasped in mock affront, but her heart wasn’t in it and she fell easily into step with him. The air hung thick with moisture over the deserted street, curling unpleasantly in his lungs.

Watching the play of orange light over damp pavement, Jesse asked,

“What do you know?”

“Gee, straight down to it? Romance really is dead.”

“Yeah, and so are a lot of people.” He snapped, striding faster down the pavement. “I’m about three seconds from passing out after a very stressful day, and as amusing as your antics are, I’m really not in the mood. So pass on your news, and then get lost so I can go to sleep.”

Rose’s smile finally faded. Her mouth twisted sourly, and she sighed, suddenly weary. It looked strange on her. Normally she never faltered in her cocky, teasing attitude.

“You’re lucky I like you, kid.” She pulled a box of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket and lit one, grinning slyly at Jesse’s raised eyebrows. “Word is, the Winchester’s kicked it.”

Jesse snorted, unimpressed.

“Again?”

“No, for real this time. They’re both gone, and their angel sidekick is too.” She paused, blew a cloud of smoke at the sky, then continued. “No deals have been made to bring them back. No ones seen them. And -“ Rose took a long drag, as though to steady herself, looking actually worried. Jesse watched her with trepidation; whatever was going on, it was serious. Maybe more than he’d thought. “- Lucifer is dead.”

“What?”

“Yeah.” Flicking ash at the ground, Rose met Jesse’s eyes. “The whole of Hell felt it. He built the place, fed his power into each and every demon down there. When he croaked, the whole place shook. He’s gone, for real this time.”

“So angels? That’s what we’re dealing with?” They turned the corner, approaching Jesse’s apartment building. “Are they finally making a comeback?”

The demon shook her head.

“No way this was regular angels. There aren’t enough of them, and they’re all hiding up in heaven besides. This had to have been another Archangel. Two of the biggest powerhouses in the universe, having a smack down big enough to make World War Two look like a water fight.” Not even bothering with keys, Jesse pushed open the miraculously unlocked front door, and then the first door on the right. A lamp flickered on next to a comfortable but battered sofa, shedding light over a small but functional living area.

“No way. Lucifer was the last one. Everyone knows that.” He said, as he hung up his jacket on the hook by the door, frowning. “It could have been the kid.”

“Lucifers love child? Maybe.” Rose took a final drag on her cigarette, then ground the end out on a dirty plate left on the coffee table, flopping down and propping her feet up. “But I don’t care enough to find out. Every demon who isn’t suicidal is going underground, literally. If you were smart, you’d do the same.”

Scooping up the plate with a dirty look, Jesse took it into the kitchen. Digging through the pile of cleaned dishes on the draining board, Jesse unearthed a glass tumbler running it under the tap.

“See, that’s where you’re wrong.” He called through to her, leaning back against the sink. “Because I’m smart enough to know that whoever survived that fight, isn’t done yet.”

Swirling the water around the glass, he thought forlornly about his happiness just a few days ago. “The Winchester’s used to handle these things. They did for years, and I stayed out of it because they did alright.” He moved forward so they could see one another, slumping against the doorframe.

“But if you’re right, and they’re gone, then I need to do something. My parents could still be in danger. My friends here, the whole life I’ve made for myself. I’m not giving that up, Rose.”

Rose scoffed.

“Your parents? You haven’t seen them since you were eight. You’re seriously gonna risk yourself for them? She watched him with dark eyes, waiting for a reply that never came. Finally, she shook her head disapprovingly and stood.

“Those squishy human feelings are gonna get you killed one day, kid. Mark my words.” She glared at him a moment longer, then was gone. Exhaling softly, Jesse rolled the kinks out of his neck, drained his glass, and headed into his bedroom.

A bulging duffel bag rested at the foot of his bed where it hadn’t been a second earlier. Tomorrow, he’d teleport himself back to America, and set about finding someone who knew more about what was going on. But, for tonight, he put it out of his mind in favour of showering the smell of alcohol and sweat off his body, then falling face first into his pillows. Who knew when he’d see this bed again, if he ever did at all.

 

—————————————————————————

 

“This is a bad idea.”

“Yes dear,” Rowena said sweetly from between clenched teeth. “You already said. Several times.”

Charlie eyed her with barely-concealed resentment from her place in the drivers seat.

“They’re all dead. In a few minutes, we’ll be dead too, if we’re lucky. I knew this whole thing was too good to be true.” She muttered, gripping the steering wheel with white knuckled ferocity. “‘Come to our universe! You’ll be safe with us!’ Yeah, I feel so safe.”

Rowena slammed her grimoire shut, and smiled a vicious, predatory smile, which seemed to promise dark things to whomever had been foolish enough to provoke it.

“My _dear_ Charlene. Trust me when I say that those Winchester boys are more resilient than _cockroaches_ when it comes to surviving occult disasters, and even if they _aren’t_ alive, us going to where they last were is our best bet for _fixing_ this whole mess.” Forcibly relaxing her shoulders, she gracefully tossed back her hair. “Now. Kindly _shut up_ about it before I remove your tongue.”

Both women sank into a tense silence, borrowed car rumbling steadily down the road towards the Men of Letters bunker, and whatever awaited them there.

 

Pulling up to the above ground entrance, Rowena abruptly sat forward, eyes wide.

“What?” Charlie asked worriedly. “What is it?” Rowena shook her head.

“I’m not sure. Something powerful - but not angelic in nature. I’d say it was demonic but - it’s not right for that.” They exchanged a glance, and Charlie sighed.

“I don’t suppose you’ll let us turn around and leave? I hear that Florida is lovely this time of year.”

“Honestly, I thought you’d be braver. No. Whoever it is, I’ll bet my grimoire that they aren’t to happy with recent events either. Now is not the time to be turning down potential allies, dear.” With that, the witch opened the car door and stepped out as though she were sweeping onto a red carpet. Charlie slammed her head against the steering wheel, groaned loudly, and followed.

In the doorway, gazing contemplatively down at the wreckage within, stood a dark-haired young man. As they cautiously approached, he turned to look at them. He seemed fairly relaxed as he watched them but his eyes took everything in, dark and wary.

“Hello!” Rowena called cheerfully, ignoring Charlie’s full body flinch and furious expression. “Lovely weather we’ve been having, isn’t it?”

“Ladies.” He bobbed his head in reply, speech lilting with a soft Australian accent. “I don’t suppose you know the Winchester’s, do you?”

“Well.” Rowena said coquettishly, looking up through her eyelashes. “That depends on why you want to know, doesn’t it?”

“Wait!” Charlie said suddenly, face paling with realisation, hand going for the gun holstered at her waist. “I know who you are. You’re the Cambion.” Rowena turned sharply to look at her, then back to the stranger, who looked more confused than angry.

“I mean, I prefer Jesse, but yeah. Which is kinda weird, seeing as I don’t know you.” He raised his eyebrows questioningly at Charlie.

“Don’t take it too personally, dear, she’s from an alternate universe. By the looks of things, one where you weren’t particularly nice.”

Jesse glanced between the two women, eyebrows now doing their level best to pass his hairline.

“... No shit? An alternate universe? Those exist?” He paused, eying the gun pointed at him, and sighed. “Look, girls, I really don’t want any trouble. I just want the world to keep on turning the way it’s meant to while I graduate college. Normally, the Winchester’s take care of that. But my sources tell me that they’re dead, and considering that I’ve looked around this entire country for proof of life and come up with nothing, I’m inclined to believe them. So...” he folded his arms. “Do you think you could put the gun down and we could help each other out?”

“You can’t be serious.” Charlie narrowed her eyes. “Why the hell would we help you?”

“Presumably, Charlene, because he hasn’t done anything to us, and we could really use someone with his skills.” Rowena hissed out of the corner of her mouth, placating smile trained on Jesse.

Indecision flickered across Charlie’s face. Finally, after almost a full minute of deliberating, she closed her eyes.

“I must be insane.” She whispered and lowered her gun, flicking the safety on.

“Don’t worry about it.” Jesse told her, grinning. “We’re all mad here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG an update! In my defense, I did warn you guys.


End file.
